All media reports indicated that there would be a gigantic storm this evening. Meetings were canceled; it was right up to the deadline whether the Veterans Day parade would go on. This was important, because Boy's Scout troop helped carry the giant flag with the Edwardsville Lions.
The evening turned out marvelously.
BOY: By the way, it didn't rain a DROP on the parade, you liar.
ME: Hush you.
BOY: You were all about the rain.
ME: Look, Spawn, it's not my fault. We in the press actually know squat-all about predicting the weather. Air pressure, humidity, whatever. All we know how to do is read the National Weather Service report and tell you people what they say. File your complaints with them.
BOY: Rain. Hail. Tornadoes. Stormageddon.
ME: National. Weather. Service.
BOY: YOU said -
ME: I said what the National Weather Service said! So everybody go out and buy milk, eggs and bread,* and the worst thing that happens is everyone has French toast for a day.
BOY: Can we have grilled cheese?
ME: Sure. Go make it. And make one for me, too.
BOY: Mother! ME?
ME: Yeah, you. You know how many grilled cheese I've made for you in the last sixteen years? You are so deep in that favor bank you'll never make yourself even.
* We were once accused of getting kickbacks from the grocery stores for reporting an impending snowstorm. My bribe check must be in the mail.